Mossfoot's Tales of Woe...

[mossfoot]

(continuing from Tales from the Spacelanes, starting here: https://bb.oolite.space/viewtopic.php?f= ... &start=971)

I looked over my new rustbucket, one that was somehow more beat up looking than the old one, especially with the modified escape capsule re-installed (hey, it's a good trick, could come in handy again). The station mechanic promised me the atmospheric wing was installed properly now, but I wasn't going to trust this heap anywhere near a planet.

As I got into my cockpit and prepared to leave Qubeen, I guess you could say I started having a good long hard look at myself. And while I looked good as always, I was starting to wonder if I cared for what I saw underneath. I love myself--hey, I'm a loveable guy--but I wasn't sure I really liked myself right now.

I'd been so obsessed with trying to survive, stay one step ahead of daddy dearest's space ninjas or whatever, and make my only home here just a tiny bit more tolerable, that I hadn't really considered whether or no I deserved what was--oooh, they fixed the booze injector on my tea maker! So long, suckers! Computer: Tea, Earl Grey, 50 proof!

I think I blacked out for a few jumps after that.

Next thing I know I'm on some techy planet outside the Core Worlds with what I hope is a female cat person next to me, covered in frictionless bedsheets, wearing an RRS Service cap on my head and holding a bottle of... you know what? From the smell of it, it's probably better not to look to closely at the label.

The frictionless bedsheets let me slip away from the cat lady's literal claws (more cat than lady... definitely not your Kawaii Neko variety). I washed up and got back to my ship.

Seems that in the interval I'd wasted pretty much all my money, but managed to get my Adder back into decent shape, for a given value of decent. All the perks had been re-installed and even a fresh coat of paint hid the rust. It almost looked respectable. Shame I didn't have any money left, I had to ditch paying the hotel bill. Sorry cat lady. Hopefully it was already in your name.

The area I was in wasn't ripe with opportunities, mid-tech worlds at best with reasonably stable governments. I wasn't going to be making a killing in places like Esanee or Diedar. But at least I wasn't hearing any banjo music.

The RRS cap on my head turned out to be because I'd been doing some work for the Rescue, Recovery and Salvage Group, but given my long term inebriated state they didn't trust me with anything more than simple courier jobs to the main station (which was for the best for all parties involved).

Well, I had a full tank of gas at least. Not really enough capital to get started in the trading business, and besides, I didn't even remember what these planets had to offer. Maybe I could do another message run or two for them and get back on my feet...

[ClymAngus]

Your entire space fairing life could be summed up with one song couldn't it?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fudwJZhiYxk&feature=kp

"Sir? I think he's executing evasive maneuver beta zed, maybe, sir?"
"Don't be ridiculous! That pilot pissed off his tits trying to fly straight!"

Still could be worse. You could be a pirate:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UMV34CwNMY0

[ClymAngus]

Reading back through, Now, because it's away from spacelanes. I can lightly embellish the edges of your woeful tale........ So what happened to the cat you left with the tab? There, is a story in itself.....

Anisor; grimy and industrial with very odd (and long) mating rituals and a psychopathic hatred of gambling. Odd place but currently a useful one. I needed some information here and one or two of the spaceporters on this smog chocked rock might just be able to help me. Most things of interest were confined to the space port. This wasn't a good planet to be strolling around if you weren't all together human, if you know what I mean. We're not talking alien purge clan, just your good old honest bunch of "stealing our women and our jobs" dyed in the wool, goose stepping racists. So in the spaceport, that's where I found her.

Well of course I found her, she was there to be found. Felines, quiet when happy but by Giles can they yowl when things start going wrong. Normally I walk by these kind of things. It pays when you have the history I have, not to draw attention to yourself. I have to fix my own screw ups these days.

Anyway, I'm getting side tracked. There she was; feline, barely dressed getting muscled out of a cheap motel by something red and frog like. Must be what passes for rent collection in this dive. Still, despite the claws and the teeth there was a quiet desperation in her eyes that..... Yeah, I had to do something. So there stands a 7 foot amphibian problem, none too smart, trying to shake money out of a cat that clearly doesn't have it.

You know part of me is already thinking biology and how, given morphic genetics I can probably push here, and pull there and chances are, get it to regurgitate it's left lung... Bad. That's Papa Chimera talking; giles rest his soul. I think we can do a little bit better than just attack don't you?

Then I see the bottle. Oh you clever, clever girl. Lets fix this. So I stroll up. Of course the amphibian clocks a threat immediately, time to be coy; "em sorry to disturb you two but can I buy that bottle of evil juice off you?" The frog man is having none of it; "Worht? You come to house with hackcha (john) you shellesha (whores) all same! Get back strip! She come back when paid."

Ok, back hair up. THAT pissed be off, it assumed I was a whore, not that there's anything wrong with being a lady for hire, a girls got to eat and if you like the work Giles love you. But still, as a lady used to kings and princes bowing to her, it kind of gave me a bit of a respect whiplash moment. Get it together, and deal. Time to play dumb.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what your saying, I'm new here, just came in on a trader, but you see that cat lady your holding there? She's got a bottle in her hand? And I was kind of wondering if she wanted to sell it?" Oh! Suddenly the neurons are firing, all be it very slowly in frog brain! "Why you want bottle?". I look at the girl, I love feminine intuition. Immediately we are both on the same page, line and syllable. "25 credits?" she says. I could have kissed her.

Now normally, that would be that. Girl out, idiot paid, everyone's happy? No! This thing. Called me a whore. I'm taking him apart. "wow really? Only 25? For that? Well if your sure" Like clockwork the toad is into it. "You want drinky shellesha? how much drinky worth?" I SWEAR if he calls me that again I'm going to feed him his own eyeballs. It's a done deal M, keep it together, you'll be fine.

"oh I'm sorry that's vintage evil juice? Worth 2 maybe 3 hundred credits. it's been opened so maybe, one hundred? Maybe 150?" Oh you should have see the look on his face! Hook line and sinker. In one smooth movement he grabbed the bottle threw the cat into my arms and slammed the door shut.

I'm too convincing. Even the feline wanted the bottle back, definitely time for a heart to heart; "woah, are you ok? What's your name?" She wanted at that door like there was K-nip in the room. "Hundreds! And you let that frog get it? Why he thief! I claw off jaggas!" Ok deception over, "That 'frog', is Gequreian." I hissed "They can't drink, so they don't know their evil juice from their hogosh. Which is precisely what he has there. Hogosh is a pre-ferment gut rotter that I wouldn't clean my fuel lines with, worth about mmm, 1 deci-cred? So, we probably want to be leaving now?"

Yay! We have movement! Jogging down the hall we get to details, "So what is your name and what happened?" cats are pretty fast, even I had difficulty keeping up with her. "I fellufa-shi-shu, I go with spacer, he sip. Not pay. Left matted fur and bottle. Nothing more. You?"

"I'm Mima Shu” Whoh! Bite your tongue! Cats cannot be trusted with my fathers name, even here something might wring it out of her. "I'm Mima, just Mima and you look like you need a drink."

“I like drink, I like your eyes. I like to thank you. Mima Shu” She purred.

Shu, I like that. Not really telling the truth, not really lying eather. I like you strange bankrupt cat girl, Keep talking like that and this will all be fine. I love cats.

[mossfoot]

Well, you have imagination, I'll give ya that

I'm just going to assume that that's a holovid Mossfoot watched and he assumed that night probably went down something like that.

[spud42]

now this is getting interesting......
thanks for the links Clym, some good music there will have to look The Great Sea up some more....

[mossfoot]

Yeah, I dug the songs

[mossfoot]

I am never going to love my Adder. It's too slow for my liking, and with only one energy bank to power my ship and shields I feel pretty much naked all the time in a universe-long gauntlet of frat boys with paddles that I have to pass through to pledge.

Okay, maybe not the best mental image.

But it's got its good points too, once you pump about half its retail value back into it in the form of extras. Energy boosters, enhanced armor, electronic counter measures, fuzzy dice on the windshield...

And a military grade super-duper pew-pew-kapow master blaster on the front. WOOO!

How did I come across this good fortune? Well, it all started with one lonely convenience store somewhere between the Core Worlds and the Xexedi Cluster. One of those armpit places off the main trade routes that most people only see in their rear view mirror. I ended up there hoping to use it as a shortcut, only to find out that it was anything but.

Once I realized this, I figured there was no point in going planetside and just stopped at the Pi-42 for an overpriced top up to get the hell out.

Pi-42 is one of those places that doesn't even bother with artificial gravity. Strictly free floating self-serve with a bored-as-hell attendant that is probably paying off a student debt. I figured I'd grab some zero-nutritional value mega-calorie junk food when I floated past the bulk cargo section. Found your usual stuff there. Bulk cannisters of food and alcohol that truckers sometimes drop off here instead of the main planet - either because of pirate activity or just plain laziness. Computers, machinery, you name it, they had it. All overpriced. Names of a dozen corporations on the sides of the canisters, some of them no longer even in business.

And then I came across the small boxes. The lock boxes. The stuff that fits in your cockpit instead of the cargo hold. Gold. Platinum. Gems. I figured they would just have a few left over scraps in each.

They were full. At least twenty five kilos of each of the metals and a bag full of gems. Then I checked the price. Actually first I blew the dust off the price (which in zero gravity is not the best idea, since the dust takes forever to settle again) and then I checked it.

They were under market value. Way under. Like potential 100-200 percent potential profit margin worth.

I nonchalantly went to the counter and bought a Lave Fried Trumble-kabab.

"Oh, and all this," I added, placing the winfall alongside it. "Looks like it's been here a while."

The guy at the front had magnetic boots to better work the counter. They also kept him from leaving before his shift was done, and he looked the sort who wanted to do just that. Actually given Pi-42's shoplifting policies, it was entirely possible his servitude was not voluntary.

He rang it up not even raising an eyebrow at the ridiculous prices.

"You wouldn't happen to know if you were going to be getting any more soon?" I asked, trying to sound indifferent.

My attempts at being sly were wasted on the shlub. "That stuff's being sold on commission. Got a guy who keeps coming here trying to dump what he finds in the inner asteroid field on me. I had to tell him to stop until I actually sold the stuff we had. I guess I could send him a message and let him know we can take more now."

"Does he come here a lot?"

"Mostly for fried food. Crazy old miner. Obsessed with blasting asteroids. Keeps talking about getting a high score. The metals and stuff are just a byproduct to him."

"Where does he get the stuff processed? Not here, I assume."

"He lives on that ship. Got its own refinery. Just scoops, processes, delivers. You want any of the other stuff he collects out there?"

"Like what?"

The clerk shrugged. "I dunno. Those things are always taking up space." He pointed to some strange looking escape pods in the far corner piled on top of one another like cordwood.

"He keeps dropping those off as well. No pilots in them, though, so I couldn't give him the mandatory slave bounty."

"That's because they're not escape pods," I said.

"Whatever. You know anyone who would want them?"

I noted the distinct red and green hull markings of a Thargoid robotic fighter. There were at least twenty of them. "I might. Fill up my cargo hold with those and I'll take them off your hands."

I left the Pi-42 learning two things. First, I was going to be making a fortune running back and forth from here for a while. And second, do not, and I repeat DO NOT ever try to mess with that crazy miner.

[mossfoot]

It had to happen eventually. I had to up and get a conscience.

I've fled from real danger at every turn. Sure, I've beaten the crap out of pirates who were stupid enough to attack my supercharged Adder, thinking it was as in poor shape as their broken down Kraits. I've fought more powerful ships out of desperation when fleeing wasn't an option. I've been a bit of a dick and swooped down to swipe GalCop kills both to boost my fighter rating, the extra cash, and to thumb my nose at my dad on the sly. I even zipped in, fired the last hit on a Thargoid mothership after a collective battle of private and government forces, and zipped out again.

Hey, I was in a low cash flow situation at the time and needed the extra capital to get back on my feet. Anyone would do it.

Needless to say this is not how I tell my tales at the local spacer bar, the Deep Helmet. Around other pilots, I'm outnumbered by swarms of pirates and barely coming out alive. I'm bravely taking on the Red Barons of the quadrant in one on one duels. I've assisted the local police who were in a jam, just to help out. And I've joined the charge against a Thargoid invasion, barely escaping with my life.

If there are any attractive women in the bar, the numbers involved scale appropriately. It's worked for me so far, and has kept me happy enough not to think about the life I left behind. Hell, I started to think this new life wasn't so bad.

That was before the ASL Princess Cruise.

It was a standard run to Xexedi. I'd gotten used to ferrying things back and forth between there and a little low tech agro-commie world nearby. Commie planets are safe enough, and Xexedi is as safe as it gets.

I was skirting the edge of an asteroid field, playing it safe, when I noticed a battle. That wasn't unusual. You'll usually see some scrapping between pirates and the locals. They pick on miners, hoping to take them out before they suspect anything. First they get a read on how long miners are working, and come back later when they're pretty sure the miners have filled up. They call this Lurking, like an old lady waiting for someone to give up on a slot machine before it pays out.

But sometimes they're testing defences, to see if they're ready for a bigger raid. Usually the scumbags jump out system before it gets too hot for them. But if the timing is right and they got the numbers, they come in en mass.

And today they had.

Between me and Xexedi station was the biggest furball I'd ever seen. Dozens of ships flying about fighting one another, and in the center of it all a large cruise liner.

"S.O.S. This is the ASL Princess Cruise requesting assistance. Mayday! Mayday!"

I've encountered my share of distress calls - most of the time from people getting their kneecaps metaphorically (and their ships literally) broken by the Black Monks.

What made this different? I knew the ASL Princess Cruise. I'd been on it when I was five and had lived on it for two months. I probably knew every corridor of that ship. It was a civilian cruise liner that took families to all the best vacation stops along the space lanes, stopping at all kinds of resorts and safaris. They'd take you to binary star systems so you could watch the gas from a red giant feed into a white dwarf, spectacular, but still a thousand years away from causing a nova. It visited planets where whole cities were dedicated to entertainment.

It was a dream come true for any kid. And right now I could only remember two things: that I had complained almost non stop about there not being enough to do, and that there had been a thousand other kids on there that were getting in my way at the buffet line getting the chocolate pudding before me. A thousand.

I counted maybe a dozen sidewinders laying down the suppressing fire. At least two Cobra Mark IIIs were doing the heavy hitting and fighting off what meager defences had come to the ship's aid. The GalCops were being kept near the station by a separate detachment. And a Python was there to pick up the pieces when...

A thousand.

"S.O.S. This is the ASL Princess Cruise requesting assistance from anyone out there! Mayday! Mayday!"

A thousand.

I kicked in the fuel injectors and dove straight into the fray. "ASL Princess Cruise. Request for assistance received, transmitting IFF codes to your ship. Relay to all friendlies. Hang in there!"

What was I doing? The support ships were getting their asses handed to them. What chance did I have?

"Targetting Sidewinder. Firing. Sidewinder down."

Who was this talking? This wasn't me. Was it?

"Got a Cobra in my sights. Fox Two. Cobra down."

I wasn't me anymore. There was no sarcasm coming out of my mouth. No quips. Not even an insult to anyone's mother.

"Firing. Sidewinder down. Acquiring new lock. Firing. Sidewinder down. Acquiring new lock."

By the time I got the Python in my sights I was starting to get my senses back. It was kind of like mental exhaustion. I couldn't stay in that trance forever. The Python came into my sights and I remembered why this ship was here, and what it was going to be scooping up.

"I'm going after the Python. Anyone else out there want to help me kick its ass?"

I heard a scared voice on the radio. "I can't. I... have two on..."

"Roger that, coming on your six." The Python could wait.

"There's too man--" Static.

"This is the ASL Princess Cruise. Our engines are going critical. Mayday! Mayday!"

I could see the sparks flying from the aft section of the ship. One of the three engines had gone out and another was flaring, sending huge plasma plumes into the dark. I think I slipped back into the fugue state. I remember calling out targets, hits, taking evasive maneuvers, but none of it felt like me. By the time I started drifting from it this time, I had just finished off the python and used an ECM to take down its missiles, leaving my energy banks a bit too drained for my liking. I'd lost half my cargo bay and several subsystems. It was a miracle I was still in one piece.

There was one enemy left that I could see. A whole lot of white wreckage blips on the radar and not nearly as many yellow intact ships. Some purple blips indicated the GalCop cavalry had finally arrived. The last pirate was a Sidewinder Special with a bounty on its head that would make a Thargon blush. And judging from its markings, it was the ringleader of this event. Ship ID: The King.

I lined up my mill-spec laser on its aft side and sent out a com message directly to his cockpit before I blew his ship to hell.

"Hail to the King, baby."

I couldn't resist. I'm only human. The jackass managed to eject just in time, and landed square in my fuel scoop. Nothing but net.

I changed to a wide band broadcast.

"ASL Princess Cruise. You are clear of pirates. Suggest you find a spacedock and get some serious air freshener to remove the stench. Over."

"Adder designation 000DESTRUCT0. This is GalCop Wing Leader V9. I'm sorry..." There seemed to be some static there, or he just didn't care to finish his sentences properly. I'm sorry? Sorry for what? For kicking more ass than I have in my entire life?

I swung my ship around to do a victory pass on the Princess Cruise, watch the passengers wave to me as I showed off with a barrel roll or something.

Only she wasn't there.

I looked down to my radar. The battle must have drifted farther away from it. I checked the few remaining friendly yellow blips. Moray. Asp. Sidewinder. Then I noticed just how many white blips there were. I'd zoomed in my radar for dog fighting purposes. Now I zoomed it back out.

There was a cloud of white blips out there, spreading gently in every direction.

Someone was talking to me on the radio, but I didn't really hear. Something about thanking me for my assistance and reward... I turned it off and headed for the Dodec station.

I tried not to think about who I had in my cargo hold. If I did, I might have done something that would get me into trouble, but I know I wouldn't regret. As it was, I was hoping the police would do it for me.

***

"What do you mean you let him go?"

The GalCop liaison clearly didn't have time for me, but I was forcing the issue. I might not officially be the son of a sector commander anymore, but that didn't mean I didn't know who to talk to or how to find a way to talk to them.

"You were well compensated for delivering him to the proper authorities, but he won't be standing trial. As I told you, he's part of an ongoing investigation."

"You mean he works for you, feeding you intel on pirates and smugglers and so you look the other way when he does his petty raids. I know how it works."

"I can't confirm anything you're saying."

"Funny, I didn't know a fully loaded cruise liner in a corporate state counted as petty. Guess the rules have changed."

"Who are you again? If anything comes up, I'll be sure to--"

I spun around and walked out the door. "Never mind."

I ended up in my favorite dive on the station, the Deep Helmet. I really needed a drink. A woman came up to me, easily an eight out of ten even without the beer goggles on, and sat on the stool beside me.

"Hey, I heard you were fighting those pirates out there. Couple of other pilots over there want to buy you a drink. And I'd love to hear any stories you had to tell."

I looked the woman over. Maybe she was a nine. Pilot groupie. Otherwise known as "the sure thing." You get them in both genders and gender preferences, and most species. I saw a few pilots in the back raise a glass to me when I made eye contact with them, one with a groupie of her own on her lap. I looked down at the bar.

"Sorry. Wrong guy. I think I just saw him leave."

"Oh. Sorry." She got off the stool and left.

I raised a finger for the barkeep. "Tea."

"Your usual special blend?"

I shook my head. "Straight."

[Diziet Sma]

Quite a tale.. bummer that you lost the Princess Cruise..

I kicked in the fuel injectors and dove straight into the fray. "ASL Princess Cruise. Request for assistance received, transmitting IFF codes to your ship. Relay to all friendlies. Hang in there!"

What was I doing? The support ships were getting their asses handed to them. What chance did I have?

"Targetting Sidewinder. Firing. Sidewinder down."

Who was this talking? This wasn't me. Was it?

"Got a Cobra in my sights. Fox Two. Cobra down."

I wasn't me anymore. There was no sarcasm coming out of my mouth. No quips. Not even an insult to anyone's mother.

"Firing. Sidewinder down. Acquiring new lock. Firing. Sidewinder down. Acquiring new lock."

By the time I got the Python in my sights I was starting to get my senses back. It was kind of like mental exhaustion. I couldn't stay in that trance forever.

...

I think I slipped back into the fugue state. I remember calling out targets, hits, taking evasive maneuvers, but none of it felt like me. By the time I started drifting from it this time, I had just finished off the python and used an ECM to take down its missiles, leaving my energy banks a bit too drained for my liking. I'd lost half my cargo bay and several subsystems. It was a miracle I was still in one piece.

It's quite something when you slip into that mindset, isn't it? Man and ship, merged into the perfect, methodical killing machine..

[mossfoot]

Quite a tale.. bummer that you lost the Princess Cruise..

Full disclosure, I don't always remember the exact details of an event - I don't know what the actual name of the cruise ship was but chose one that was appropriate. But "The King" was the actual name of the lead Sidewinder (Special) and got something like 500 credits for his return.

As for the tone, well, even when you're focusing on humor it doesn't hurt to have moments of dramatic relief and character growth now and then Hopefully it worked well.

[ClymAngus]

Well, you have imagination, I'll give ya that

I'm just going to assume that that's a holovid Mossfoot watched and he assumed that night probably went down something like that.

Well, your creation ditched the poor girl. So one of mine picked her up! Can't say fairer than that. To be honest this isn't the first time oolite has been introduced to Mima or her family. There is an issue however, thanks to the events of Finis, some work needs doing. Some loose ends to tie some issues to address. (and I'm down a lead protagonist (thank you Drew )) Furtile ground from authors and problem solvers alike.

I fix stuff, ships the odd map here and there, I don't author. I leave authoring to people who like and enjoy authoring. People like you.

Also, Love your work. Might take a gander at some of your shorts, (Short stories! Stories! Nothing kinky!)

A pleasure conversing with you Mr Chinn.

[mossfoot]

Also, Love your work. Might take a gander at some of your shorts, (Short stories! Stories! Nothing kinky!)

A pleasure conversing with you Mr Chinn.

And you as well. Actually I was just thrown for a loop by your piece - at first I didn't realize you were using a different character.

As for my stories, even my novels aren't all that long (around 60K or so, a thin novel for sure).

[ClymAngus]

Also, Love your work. Might take a gander at some of your shorts, (Short stories! Stories! Nothing kinky!)

A pleasure conversing with you Mr Chinn.

And you as well. Actually I was just thrown for a loop by your piece - at first I didn't realize you were using a different character.

As for my stories, even my novels aren't all that long (around 60K or so, a thin novel for sure).

Well as soon as I saw the words "published author". I thought why the hell is this man giving away work for free? It is a testiment to the possibilities of the game, that even established men are tempted to give away a little time and effort to the cause!

The lovely lady can be found within the folds of the complimentary novella accompanying this little nasty:
http://www.crimsonforge.co.uk/cloister/kirin.zip

Also remember to pick up a map or two if you haven't already. They're very handy for plotting a route (guaranteed pixel free)

http://wiki.alioth.net/index.php/Oolite_planet_list

bottom of the page, click on the Vector map link.

[mossfoot]

Well as soon as I saw the words "published author". I thought why the hell is this man giving away work for free? It is a testiment to the possibilities of the game, that even established men are tempted to give away a little time and effort to the cause!

Established? Eh, that's a matter of opinion. I make more money editing than I do writing, by a LONG shot. I'm just not good at self marketing

The lovely lady can be found within the folds of the complimentary novella accompanying this little nasty:
http://www.crimsonforge.co.uk/cloister/kirin.zip

Also remember to pick up a map or two if you haven't already. They're very handy for plotting a route (guaranteed pixel free)

http://wiki.alioth.net/index.php/Oolite_planet_list

bottom of the page, click on the Vector map link.

I really like those vector maps, but the information is so tiny it's not something I'd normally use on a computer or printout - However, I do have a tablet computer that it would be perfect for (since I can zoom in and out with a pinch) that it creates a more "sci fi" vibe to my flying around

[ClymAngus]

Well as soon as I saw the words "published author". I thought why the hell is this man giving away work for free? It is a testiment to the possibilities of the game, that even established men are tempted to give away a little time and effort to the cause!

Established? Eh, that's a matter of opinion. I make more money editing than I do writing, by a LONG shot. I'm just not good at self marketing

You hear that lads? The man needs our help! Crack open your pay pal accounts and send him the money he so richly deserves! (it's not a charity thing you get books!)